Page:Stella Dallas, a novel (IA stelladallasnove00prou).pdf/59

Rh twice the number of hours spent in the drawing-room or garden would not have been sufficient to establish the degree of familiarity which made it possible for Laurel to put into words many of her questions and wonderings before she had been three days a guest of Mrs. Morrison.

"Have you a Permanent?" she asked bluntly the third morning as she sat gazing at Mrs. Morrison, seated before the altar-like dressing-table with nothing on it but two candlesticks and an old silver box, and four or five tortoise-shell hairpins.

"Yes," Mrs. Morrison replied, smiling, "but not the kind you mean. I was born with mine."

Still gazing, Laurel inquired a moment later, "Don't you ever use rouge, or an eyebrow pencil?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Oh, I don't know. Why do you ask, Laurel?"

"No reason. I was only wondering." Then after a pause Laurel added, "I think you'd be lovely with pink cheeks."

"I would be nicer, wouldn't I?" she agreed, and she stuck in the last hairpin, got up, gathered together a few soft muslin things from a drawer near by (she put on clean clothes every morning: her laundry bill must be terrific), and, wrapped round in a lemon-colored china-silk kimono, passed into one of the little twin bathrooms adjoining, and closed the door.

Laurel heard the click of enamel handles being turned, the violent gush of a stream of water in the marble shower-bath, and a second or two later, or so it seemed, Mrs. Morrison reappeared, as fresh as a pond-lily in her crisp lingerie.